


Outside, Looking In

by what_am_i_even_doing_tho



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Secrets, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_am_i_even_doing_tho/pseuds/what_am_i_even_doing_tho
Summary: "This was not the first time Merlin had stumbled to his door, half dead and covered in wounds, offering no explanation as to how he had gotten them, but as much as it pained him to see the man in such a state, and to be kept in the dark, he prayed that it would not be the last time. These visits were irrevocable proof that, no matter what dangers Merlin had gotten himself into, he was still alive, and his trust in Gwaine had not yet withered."(Spoilers for part of the end of The Darkest Hour Part 2, but that's pretty much it.)
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Outside, Looking In

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be h/c, but fuck comfort. It's short, shitty, and unedited. Sorry.

Gwaine was roused from his slumber with a start when a thumping knock sounded on his chamber door. He contemplated rolling over and returning to the wonderful dream he had been having, a dream featuring a mug of ale that never ran dry and a friend that was always smiling, but a niggling feeling told him he would regret it if he did, and not even a moment later, something heavy fell against his door. Bolting out of bed and unsheathing his sword, he crept towards the entryway on near-silent feet, ignoring the chill of the night on his bare chest. Once he had reached it, he pressed his back up to the wall and held his breath, listening for any sounds from the other side. All was quiet, so he shot a hand out and flung open the door, sword raised defensively.

He sagged slightly when he all that greeted him was an unpleasant draft and turned to go back to bed when something in his peripheral made him pause. Looking down, he observed the body that lay crumpled on the floor with a raised eyebrow, then looked in either direction down the hall for any signs of whoever had left it there. Seeing no one, he crouched down cautiously to get a better look, sword poised to strike in case this was just some trick to get his guard down. Gwaine rolled the body over onto its back and saw that it wasn’t a body at all; it was Merlin, and he barely seemed to be holding on to consciousness. He hastily tossed his sword back into his room, wincing at the resulting clang as it collided none too gently with the floor, and scooped his friend into his arms with as much care as he could muster.

He apologized softly when the movement caused the man to let out a weak groan and toed the door shut behind him before making his way over to his bed, gently depositing his injured friend onto it. He rushed over to the nearest cabinet, withdrawing from it a small chest filled with medical supplies, an empty basin, and an armful of cloth strips. After filling the basin with water from a pitcher, he hurried back to Merlin and carefully stripped his friend of his blood-soaked clothing, taking stock of the many injuries littering his form as he went. The majority of them were superficial, little scrapes and bruises that would heal in no time, but there were a few that worried him. Among them were a shallow looking puncture wound on his thigh that had thankfully stopped bleeding and a swollen left wrist, likely strained.

Most concerning, however, was the claw mark that ran from the top of Merlin’s left shoulder to the opposite hip; the ragged flesh surrounding the wounds was an angry red, and the wounds themselves were still sluggishly bleeding. Not for the first time, Gwaine wondered just what it was that his friend got up to that would give him such awful injuries, but he quickly dismissed the thought, knowing that he had more pressing matters. With one hand, he dipped a cloth into the basin of water and began to gently cleanse the less serious wounds. With the other, he took another cloth and held it firmly to his friend’s chest, ignoring the pained cry he received. At some point during the cleaning, the water became a muddy brown, and Gwaine had to regretfully leave Merlin’s side to replace it with fresh water, but eventually the last of the blood was mopped up and he could finally get to bandaging.

Arousing Merlin so that he could put pressure on his still bleeding chest wound, Gwaine smeared a foul-smelling paste over the rest of his injuries. He tore a cloth strip in half, knowing he’d need as many as he could spare to wrap Merlin’s chest, and he wrapped the first half around Merlin’s wrist, and the other around his thigh. He worked quickly, but carefully, mindful of his friend’s poorly suppressed winces, and before long, all that was left was the claw mark. Sighing with relief upon seeing that the bleeding had stopped at last, he pulled out a needle and thread. He absently wished he had some ale to give Merlin to take the edge off the pain, but for the time being, he was thankful that his friend was too weak to do much more than shift slightly on the bed, else he’d have to hold the man down while stitching his wounds, and that was not an ordeal he had any particular interest in reliving.

The wound now closed, Gwaine covered it in the last of the paste before wrapping Merlin’s torso. In the process, he discovered a few ribs that were bruised, if not cracked, and he made sure to wrap the bandages as tightly as he dared. Taking a step back, he appraised his work, and decided that it would have to do. He moved the remaining supplies off the bed and brought the blanket up to Merlin’s chin, tucking him in securely. A sleepy thank you was uttered, and then his friend drifted off to sleep. After digging through a drawer for a quill, inkwell, and some parchment, Gwaine made a list of all the supplies he would need to restock for next time. Then, the small chest and now-empty basin returned to the cabinet, and the list was folded and put in the drawer.

Once everything had been put back in its proper place, he picked up a chair and set it down next to the bed before collapsing into it. Now that the worst of the danger had passed, now that Merlin was all patched up and sleeping soundly, Gwaine finally allowed himself to feel the panic and sadness that he had pushed away upon first seeing his friend’s crumpled form. This was not the first time Merlin had stumbled to his door, half dead and covered in wounds, offering no explanation as to how he had gotten them, but as much as it pained him to see the man in such a state, and to be kept in the dark, he prayed that it would not be the last time. These visits were irrevocable proof that, no matter what dangers Merlin had gotten himself into, he was still alive, and his trust in Gwaine had not yet withered.

This, though, did not stop the bitterness from bubbling to the surface like it always did. Merlin was his closest friend, his first friend, his very reason for being in Camelot to begin with, and it stung that he was keeping such blatantly dangerous secrets from him. Gwaine was a Knight of the Round Table, for God’s sake; surely, he could help Merlin with whatever he was doing. He could, at the very least, protect him, so that these late-night visits would no longer be a necessity. But no, Merlin remained tight-lipped about it, and Gwaine had long since stopped asking for fear of scaring the man away and leaving him to tend his injuries on his own.

This song and dance was nothing new to him, so when his thoughts then turned to Lancelot, he was not in the least bit surprised. He knew how close Merlin had been to their friend, and he knew with an unshakable certainty that the other knight had been in on this little secret. Gwaine could remember all the times that the two had gone missing simultaneously, and now he knew that they had been going on one of Merlin’s dangerous errands together. He knew that Lancelot had watched their friend’s back, protected him, and he had undoubtedly stitched him up whenever he got hurt. If Lance were still alive, Merlin wouldn’t even have a need for Gwaine anymore. But, like clockwork, he proceeded to scold himself for his jealousy.

Lancelot’s death had devastated all of them, but Merlin especially. He had closed himself off from his other friends for months, shutting them out when all they wanted was to try to ease his pain. He became distant, like a shadow, not entirely there. And then, one night, Gwaine had found Merlin outside his chamber door, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead and cradling his arm to his chest. He had refused to answer any questions, just repeating over and over that he had no one else that he could turn to and begging his friend to not tell anyone else. Gwaine just couldn’t bring himself to say no to that; he was only human, after all. That night was not the last, and he had learned to tamp down his panic, learned to keep his inquiries to himself. He learned to be grateful that Merlin trusted him enough to come to him for help. They developed a routine, and Gwaine knew what came next.

He would fall asleep here, hunched in this chair beside the bed, and when he awoke in the morning, Merlin would be gone, his bed would be made, and a blanket would be draped over his shoulders. When Gwaine saw Merlin later in the day, there would be no obvious sign that he was recovering from grievous wounds that had incapacitated him just the night before. Only if he were to watch his friend closely would he see the slight limp in his otherwise steady gait, the way he gingerly treated his left arm when no one was looking, the faint bags under his stormy eyes, the falseness of his omnipresent smile. The man would never offer him an explanation, nor would Gwaine ever ask for it. They would never bring it up again, and life would carry on as if nothing had happened. He would simply restock his supplies so that when Merlin came knocking again, he would be prepared to help offer what aid he was allowed.

But despite this, Gwaine would not give up hope. He knew how stupid it was, how unlikely it was to ever happen, yet still, he held on to the hope that one day, Merlin would let him in.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
